In Retrospect
by Gloria Patri
Summary: CHAPTER 2 NOW UP! JacobxOC All these years they tried to make you believe that it was just all a big nightmare. Books were burnt and survivors were slowly killed off. The hunt's back on but no one's quite sure who the hunter is.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **Twilight, its plots and characters, belong to Stephenie Meyer. I just _wish_ I owned Jacob. Like a lot of us fanpeople.

**Summary: **They were lurking in the dark, all these years, wanting you to believe they were legends. They waited. The waiting's over; times to get on stage and see the world you've missed out on. JacobxOC. Rated T for intense swearing & mild religious content.

**My first OC-centric Twilight fanfiction. I tend to have a very scribbly and incomprehensible style, so read at your own risks. Also, my stories are always very... explicit. When it comes to language, anyways. So I should warn anyone and everyone who's going to read this; I make my character swear a lot. I'll try my best to keep Jacob in character, but I can't guarantee anything decent. But Skye's going to swear. Lots.**

**

* * *

**

Prologue

_March 31st, 2008  
_

_« Despite my propositions being rich in information and heavily supported by several philosophers and so-called 'ancient texts', nothing has been or can be proven, in any way, shape or form. Nd in any case, the theories I present are either too shocking to be true or too absurd to be false. I then leave things in your hands, and you shall decide: am I completely insane, or do my suggestions contain fragments of truth, or are they, altogether, plausible? If you dub me insane, then I'll leave the paperwork to you. Banning me from an association which I was never a part of should prove to be quite the interesting task for those who think I'm insane. »_

_-introduction do Dr. Hauscroff's seminar on various world theories-_

_

* * *

_

I pulled my window open and removed the screen. I jumped out and clung to the lilac tree. I climbed all the way to the to, jumping on the roof, trying to make my landing as quiet as humanly possible. I trudged quietly to the summit of the roof and descended a little bit further up front. I sat down and laid back, resting my head in my hands. I was used to this. I did this almost every night, in the summer. Climbing on the roof and watching the stars. Somewhere underneath me, in my room, I'd left the radio on. The volume was loud enough for me to hear it, just as background music. Matchbox Romance was an amazing band. I loved them especially for their song called Monsters. I really liked imagining stories to it. You know, superhero adventures. Things that you only see in your dreams.

I frowned when I noticed a couple laughing, walking in the street across from my house. I was a little paranoid. I automatically assumed that they were laughing at the song I was listening to. But that was insane. I could barely hear it. Much less some strangers walking across the street. I sighed, disappointed in myself. I needed to stop worrying about everything and anything.

Somewhere in the creeping darkness, I heard a wolf howl. Or maybe it was a dog; I wasn't quite sure. For all I knew, it could have easily been a coyote, too. Those things were frequent around these parts--around Chateauguay. My friends had come to school whining about coyotes and dogs and whatever else there was in the woods behind their places. I was one of the few who didn't have the luxury of living right next to a forest. I used to. But we moved. It was a sad day, too. I really loved those woods.

I heard another howl, closer this time. I frowned. either a coyote was being chased down by some moronic, newcomer hunter or a dog was on the loose and chasing after... a cat, a squirrel, a beaver--whatever it is dog's chase these days. Police sirens sounded off and I couldn't help but laugh to myself. Whatever was running wild in the streets was bound to be caught now. I waited for the sirens to quiet down(they give me the nastiest migraines). Five, ten, fifteen minutes. The howling was sporadic and the sirens hadn't shut up. Not amused that my nocturnal outing was disturbed, I gently tiptoed to the edge of the roof. I jumped off and rolled--my Parkour teacher had taught me how to do it properly a few days ago. I decided to head to the small park. I took the short, narrow alleyway that borrowed my neighbor's driveway, stuffing my hands in my hoodie's pockets. I loved that hoodie. It was my only black one, my only My Chemical Romance hoodie. My brother had tried borrowing it once. I almost clawed his eyes out.

I was too busy trying to shove the headache away to notice that the alley was darker than it should have been. After all, it was a full moon that night. And full moons in Chateauguay are synonyms to 'watch out for the freaking spotlight'. Instead, what I noticed first were the flashing lights--red blue white red blue white red blue white--and it made my head spin. The next thing I noticed was how the howling had stopped for the past two minutes and how the sirens had been turned off. I frowned and lifted my head.

I wasn't too sure of what I was seeing at that point. I double checked, just to make sure that I wasn't imagining something. I did that a lot. Seeing something insane, like a huge bear, when it's just really a pile of coats and hats. But this... I was pretty sure there wasn't a way I could have been imagining the glowing, mirroring eyes and the growl-like breathing. I hadn't noticed I stopped breathing until I started hyperventilating. I was going to scream, but the lack of air was sort of getting in the way. I was scared, more than I had ever been in my life. I'd dreamt about things like that; dying at the hands of some otherworldly creature. Though, in dreams, I never died. I woke up just before whatever deadly _thing_ wanted me dead would hit. But this was entirely different than what I dreamt and read and wrote. This feeling of impending doom was completely different. There's no way I could ever describe it well enough for you to shake and sweat the way I did.

The only reason I noticed I'd fallen to my knees was because the gigantic thing in front of me suddenly became bigger. My breathing got faster and faster and I could feel my legs and arms turn to ice. I was clutching my chest so hard, I knew I'd leave bruises. Not that it would matter. I was going to die anyways. At the hands--paws or claws or tentacles or whatever it was that thing had--of something I'd never seen in my life before, something whose existence the world had forever denied.

Somewhere, the sirens started again, and the flashing lights started fading into the distance. I tried to scream and call out for them not to leave, that it was here, whatever they were looking for what right fucking _there_, but I couldn't breathe anymore. My throat had just closed up altogether. I whimpered--that was the only begging I could do. I wasn't begging for it--whatever it was--to spare me. I was begging for the quickest, most painless death possible.

I could feel it getting closer. I _felt_ its footsteps as it got nearer, until, eventually, I could feel its warmth swallow me whole. I couldn't see anything anymore. Behind me was pitch black. In front of me, the moon had been covered my some enormous furry, fuzzy form. Someone was saying something. It took me a while to realize I had been the one muttering "Oh god oh god oh god..." over and over again, like my life depended on it. I didn't stop chanting the two words. I couldn't bring myself to look up more than I already had; I was looking straight ahead and even then I could only see its... its chest. At least I assumed that's what it was.

"Oh god. Oh fucking mother of Jesus someone fucking save me." I choked, wondering how it was possible for me to speak when I was barely able to breathe at all.

There was a light crackling sound as I fell on my side—every muscle in my body had suddenly refused to stay alive, letting my limbs grow colder and colder—but I knew the sound hadn't come from me. I was going to scream, I swear to god I was just about to scream. But a hand, so warm it felt like a white-hot iron, pressed harshly against my mouth. It told me to shut up and to stay quiet. Well, the person to whom the hand belonged to told me to stay quiet. I nodded a few hundred times.

"B-but that that that _thing_...!" I whined, screwing my eyes shut and clamping my arms around myself. I was trying to will the world away. I was hoping that the next time I'd open my eyes, the world would go away and that I'd be on my roof again and that none of this what-the-fucking-hell crap had happen.

"Don't open them." the voice said. He, for I had successfully reassembled my thoughts enough to ascertain a gender, sounded harsh and tired. I would have frowned if not for the feeling of, you know, impending doom.

"Why not? Why the bloody fucking hell _not_?" I was getting angry and I didn't know why. I dug my fingers into my arms—I knew I'd wake up with bruises there, too. I felt tears stinging at my closed eyes. I knew it was better I keep the shut anyways, unless I wanted to have gallons of water spewing from my eyes. But I wouldn't tell him that.

"It's not safe yet."

I was going to ask why he had that cocky tone, but when I heard the familiar rustling of fabric against skin, I shut up. I was thankful for the cover of darkness. It was most likely covering up the inhumane shade of red I'd become. But for a moment I was wondering if there wasn't a double meaning to the warning. And for another moment, I was wondering why he was putting his pants(or shorts or whatever he'd planned on wearing) on rather than just rape and kill me. That's what men do in dark creepy alleys in the dead of night right?

"Wha... Where'd that thing go?" I whispered, trying to keep the uncharacteristic whining and whimpering to myself from thereon out. "It was it was freaking there. Right _there_. You saw you it? You so fucking saw it you have to have seen it it was the hugest thing _ever_." I rambled, still unable to remove myself from the asphalt. I felt like I was glued to it. Even though I knew that it greatly contributed to my freezing limbs.

"It was probably just a coyote or a stray dog or something." I heard him say. I wasn't convinced in the least. His voice sounded tense and off and fake.

"No way in hell that thing was a dog. It was freaking _huge_, get? Huge! I couldn't even see the moon. I see it now it's right there. It's high right? It's so high..." I felt my breath quicken again as the stranger took a few steps towards me, repeating over and over again that it had just been a dog. It sounded like he was trying to calm me down rather than convince me that I had gone insane. That thought... utterly disturbed me.

"...I want to open my eyes." I ended up whispered, though I wasn't sure if the man had heard me or not because of my harsh breathing. I could barely understand myself.

"Don't." and it sounded more like a feral growl than anything human I'd ever heard. I was starting to connect the dots while I was recollecting the bits and pieces of my consciousness that had been spread all over the place. I was starting to connect dots that weren't even supposed to _exist_. Can you imagine the kind of painful confusion was taking place in my mind?

I could tell his body was getting closer. Barely, because of the thick veil of darkness that wouldn't go away, but I was able to see he was walking forward. Slowly though. Like I was some kind of deer he was about to pounce on. That idea was enough to scare me. But then something else dawns on me: the heat radiating from him. I don't know when, but at some point in time I sat up. I started crawling backwards, towards the fence that limited the alleyway that lead to the park. I was seriously starting to regret ever getting up on my stupid roof.

"Don't. Don't move any god damn fucking closer you..." I let out a strangled laughter, that may or may not have sounded like a sob. "You son of a bitch."

Again, I heard the feral growl, but no words accompanied it. I let out a shaky sigh, and a whimper alongside it. I pressed myself against the fence, and I'm sure it must have looked like I was trying to go through it. I gripped the metal wires so hard I felt like my fingers would never budge. I screwed my eyes shut even tighter, now desperate to shut up my mouth and eyes and everything altogether. The wind blew at that point. A warm breeze, something I wasn't aware could exist on a cold March night. I couldn't help but snap my eyes open, but I kept staring at the ground to my right. My neck was completely available, I noticed. I couldn't help but thinking that was the worst thing to do. One fell sweep of his hand and he would just crush me. I heard another growl and the most horrible tearing sound ever. I cried out, weakly though, and closed my eyes instantly.

The howl broke me. From head to toe, everything in my body shattered at that point. I was frozen there, stuck to the fence, becoming a part of it. I heard the monster snarl—where did the man go? I couldn't grasp any logical sense before my mind was thrown to the wind again. The howling over, I thought my head would explode. The silence was torture. The lights in houses were being turned on everywhere and people were coming out of their homes, I could hear it. The beast snarled. I let out another strangled sob.

"Oh god oh god oh god Our Father who art in heaven hallowed be Thy name Thy kingdom come Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven..." and I was reciting my prayers without having the slightest idea why. I felt like it was the wrong thing to say for some reason. Like that would only upset the beast even more. Another gust of warm wind blew.

And in clicked.

"Holy fucking mother of pearl!" I cried, eyes still screwed shut, hot breath still washing over me, snarl still clearly audible, men and women still coming out of their houses to faces their deaths. "Wendigo. Wendigo. That that that native American story the the man who turned into a wolf the Wendigo. The—holy mother of God I can't believe it..."

Finally. My consciousness was slipping away. I was finally losing the battle against the heavy black drapes that had been threatening to engulf me since the minute I walked in the alley. But I wasn't giving up yet. I had to know.

"What-wh-what's you're name? You you have to have a name they all do everyone does what's you fucking _name_?" I was screaming. I couldn't help it; everything was boiling and spilling all over the place because of the fear. The intense, indescribable fear. "My eyes are closed. Turn back. Turn fucking back before they all see the giant motherfucking wolf you freaking idiot!"

But whatever I was expecting to happen never happened. Within a few seconds, what I thought was a wolf was suddenly gone, and the cold wind took the place of the invading warmth. I had never realized how cold it was outside until then. I reluctantly let go of the fence, my fingers still crisped in the form of the aluminum wires. It hurt just to take them away. I stumbled on all fours; I was searching the broken-up asphalt with my hands. I knew the clothes had been torn apart, that's what the tearing sound had been. I patted around for a few seconds until I found a piece of clothing with a tag on it. I tried to open my eyes—that was painful, too. But at least they were already accustomed to the darkness. Reading the name on the label was easy. (Though honestly, who bothers tagging their stuff these days?)

_Jacob Black_

"I'll remember that." I whispered, surprising myself with the amount of venom contained in those few words. "I'll track you and hunt you down if it's the last thing I do." I heard the bone-breaking howl, far off in the distance.

The last thing I remembered was that; my shaking uncontrollably. I woke up with a start, staring at my alarm clock. 6:27 AM. Time to get up and get ready for school. I sighed and ran a hand through my hair.

"I have the most _fucked_ dreams..." My father walked into my room at that moment, to wake me up no doubt. But he looked too troubled. I frowned. Asked what was wrong.

"The... The officers are here to see you, Skye."

I looked down at myself. I'd just wrecked my favorite hoodie with dirt and wet leaves.

* * *

_Very insecure author's note: _

Very insecure is an understatement. I'd like to know what you all think of this. If I get enough reviews/positive feedback, I may actually bother writing up a second chapter. :) Pease reviewwwwww! Nice long reviews get cookies, cake and Naked Jacob.


	2. Loathe

**Disclaimer**: Twilight, its plots and characters, belong to Stephenie Meyer. I just _wish_ I owned Jacob. Like a lot of us fanpeople.

**Summary**: They were lurking in the dark, all these years, wanting you to believe they were legends. They waited. The waiting's over; times to get on stage and see the world you've missed out on. JacobxOC. Rated T for intense swearing & mild religious content.

**My first OC-centric Twilight fanfiction. I tend to have a very scribbly and incomprehensible style, so read at your own risks. Also, my stories are always very... explicit. When it comes to language, anyways. So I should warn anyone and everyone who's going to read this; I make my character swear a lot. I'll try my best to keep Jacob in character, but I can't guarantee anything decent. But Skye's going to swear. Lots.**

* * *

Chapter One : Loathe

_October 14th 2002_

« Jason's been asking a lot of questions lately. Mostly about Iroquois legends. Some question are really open, though. He's even asked about the Wendigo--what decent, sane kid asks about that, of all things? I told him the stories, censored them as much as I could. I regret it; he's been having nightmares for a week now. I really don't know what to do. [...] It's like he's fine tuned with her. Every time Skye comes over, the second she leaves he's asking me a hundred questions. I'll have to tell him someday, I think,. but I really don't want to. I don't feel like I need to expose him to that. You understand that, though, right? I'm sure you do. I don't think you'd ever feel the need to pull someone into that universe. Oh, it's so horrible! I wish I could shield Jason from it all, forever. There's not much we can do anymore though, right? Once they hit high school, it's going to be the beginning of the end. »

-exerpt of Brandi Ziely's letter to her ex-husband-

* * *

"Skye, honey, time to get up."

The door closed behind him. I groaned and sat up in bed. I wasn't too sure where I was or what I was supposed to do. That feeling of confusion was something I'd grown used to over the past few weeks. Ever since that dream-but-not-a-dream, of that man and that… obnixiously huge, overgrown wolf. Of that person I wanted to call a Wendigo. I ran a hand through my hair as I identified my surroundings. I'd moved to the room down the hall a few days ago. The paint's fumes were still clinging to the humid April air. As if that wouldn't be enough to confuse me, my room was too clean for what it should have been. I hadn't lived at all in the few days leading to my moving, I'd pretty much just waited for time to pass by.

After a few minutes, I reluctantly got up, not at all looking forward to another day at school. Ever since the cops came home the day after the howling was heard around town, everyone at school started looking at my like I'd grown a third eye. If I had been an outcast before, you can be sure that this time around, fitting in was definitely impossible. I groaned at the prospect. I was the first person to admit that I never wanted to be normal, but this was taking something and blowing it way out of proportion.  
My dad was sitting on one of the couches in the living room. I sat down and made myself a bowl of cereal and ate slowly. I wasn't in a hurry. If I missed the bus, my dad could always drive me to school. Or I could borrow my brother's car for the day; I knew he wasn't working.

It was a quarter to seven when I headed to my room to change into something school appropriate. I stared out the window. I thought about the few nights before, when the howling had started again. It had been five weeks since the first time anything other than sirens were heard. I had been so happy to know that my nightmare was over. As much as I'd always dreamed about living a fairy tale, I really wasn't very forthcoming about having a giant mutant whatever it was just barging in my life.  
Last wednesday, when I heard the horrible sound again, I was pretty sure I'd been having a seizure. I was reassured by my mom that I was just going into shock and that it was perfectly normal given the fact that the last time I'd heard anything howl it hadn't been the most wonderful event ever. I wasn't comforted in the least. But it was nice to know that there was some form of an explanation to what had happened to me.

I stuffed my books in my bag, slipped into my shoes and rushed out the door. In all my thinking and reminiscing, I'd completely forgotten to check the time. It was going to be a miracle if I didn't miss the bus.

***

The day came and went and the classes were as boring as ever. Canadian high school sucked for that: there were no study halls. No chance to escape the droning teachers. And especially, no time to do last-minute homework. My math teacher's nearly yelled at me when I didn't hand in the four-page homework he'd assign. But my english teacher was, as per usual, ecstatic when I handed in my essay. Guaranteed 100%. My english teacher loved everything I wrote.  
French class was horrible because it was french class. And philosophy was the best part of the day. It was my last class for the day--because round my part, we only had four, hour-and-a-quarter classes a day. Even so far into the school year, I barely knew anyone in my class and I wouldn't have had it any other way. I was more than hapy to sit alone in the back of the class and listen to the teacher talk about Socrate and Plato and all those great philosophers.

Not to mention she was one of the only teachers who didn't mind my constant drawing in class.

Though the day after held something in reserve, a big surprise that I hadn't expected inthe least. My school was a relatively big high school compared the the other three in town, but it was still just small enough so that news, of whatever nature, travelled so fast that a girl could kiss another girl in the morning and by lunchtime, everyone knew about it. So when the new girl came in town, it wasn't at all surprising to have everyone's eyes rivetted on her. At some point, I was wondering if she was aware of the uproar that she was causing just by being there.

At lunch, Matt and I went upstairs to the cafeteria to get something to eat. Cathy, Melissa and Emily stayed downstairs, at the lockers where we usually ate. At the caf' was where Matt and I met her. The new girl. What with the news going around, I found out that she'd just recently moved in Chateauguay. Her father was a very popular painter down in New York and her mother was a debutante writer who already had a best-selling novel. Having parents with jobs like those, I wondered why a family like that would ever want to d with a town like Chateauguay. There wasn't anything at all, aside from the fact that it was close to Montreal. In which case they'd been better off just moving downtown instead of staying in our little out-of-nowhere almost-village.  
I just walked passed her, and yet, something somewhere shoved the earth off its axis, and somehow, I knew something had changed. Something wasn't going to be the same anymore, because of that glare of hers. For a second, I resented her and everything she was and represented. She was the essence of change and I hated her for it. But, another second came, and I reasoned it wasn't her fault if my life changed. Life does that. Life sucks sometimes.  
What unnerved me most was the face she made when she crossed me. She half-snarled and coughed, as though she'd gone through a cloud of vile-smelling smoke. Like any self-aware artist with serious self-image issues, I was profoundly offended, but tried to brush everything off. It wasn't her fault, it wasn't her fault, it wasn't her…

"Hey, you."

While part of my brain was marvelling at the fact that, oh god! someone outside of my circle of friends spoke to me? The right side was going into anxious overdrive. With the glare and sneer I was going to die.  
And yet, I found the anxiety was easily shoved aside. There was this feeling that was starting to boil inside of me. Something a lot stronger than just flimsy rivalry. I caught myself thinking of ways to pick a fight with her, and going through all the techniques I'd learn on the fly by mock-fighting with Matt and Vic.

"I have a name. Use it." I shrugged, turning around to find a raised brow and very cold, rusting eyes. For a moment, I felt a little uneasy, and I felt my stomach lurch, but the intense near-loathing was still in place.

"Cocky little bitch aren't you?" the new girl replied, crossing her arms. By then, a few curious heads turned toward us, observing the psychological warfare going on. It was a little annoying, being looked at as though I was some sort of a show, but I couldn't seem to bring myself to care enough to think about it. I couldn't think about anything.  
Her perfume made me gag. But I was sure I would've loved it if anyone else had worn it that day. It was a watery scent, something you should love. Something that flows through you and leaves you smelling the air for some kind of reminiscing trace. But I hated it so much, as though it was a thick, suffocating cloud of grandmother-like perfume.

"I'm tempted to say the same." I snapped back, finding myself crossing my arms in a similar fashion. Many years of watching CSI and Lie To Me had taught me that much: arm crossing was a sign that you were less than unwilling to communicate in any proper manner.

"Your name."

"Skye." I answered, finding more venom was in my voice than I had initially intended. Not that I cared. I couldn't bring myself to care even though I knew I probably should have.

"Tanya." She answered back automatically, narrowing her eyes even more. (If that's even possible.) She looked left at right, her gaze lingering on the cafeteria lineup for a moment. Her eyes were back on me. Something forced my entire body to twitch. "We need to talk. Now."

"I'll be back in a little while. Tell Mel I still owe her five bucks." And all of a sudden, when I spoke to Matt, all the animosity I'd had was entirely dissipated. But when I turned to follow Tanya, who was already heading at the other end of the cafeteria toward the doors that lead to the Agora outside, the surge of hatred was almost overwhelming.

We walked for a while, completely silent. The only sound was the people talking and smoking outside, near the edge of the street, and the passing cars that exited the hospital parking lot. It was already half past noon, and we didn't stop walking. We passed the corner of the street five minutes away from the school, took a left, and after a while and a little jay walking, I heard the bell ring in the distance. For some reason, skipping class didn't feel like such a big issue anymore. Not compared to what my blood was telling me was going to happen.

The school is surrounded by trees. Most of it is part of a faunic reserve, but after a certain distance, it's just forest. No owner, no witnesses, no people at all. Nothing but trees and plants and animals and the rare swamp or pond. We kept on hiking through the trees. I wondered what time it was for a few seconds, but the thought was quickly thrown out of my mind once Tanya stopped walking and turned around. She was several feet ahead of me.

"What are you?"

Her entire attitude caught me off guard. She snarled--growled, actually--and venom seemed to pour from every inch of her body. She practically oozed the thing. If I hadn't hated her so much, I probably would've been scared.

"What the hell kind of a question is that?" I growled back, another tremor running through me. "You made me skip class for that?" I wasn't happy, and I knew I should have been angry, but that amount of frustration was beyond what I knew I should have felt.

"Shut up and answer my question!" She yelled, and there was a sound, a deep rumbling, that reached me, shook me from head to toe. I was mystified by it, and, somehow, angered even more. This new girl was thinning my already barely existent nerves.

"It's be easier if I knew what the hell you were talking about!"

The two of us were caught off guard by the sound of a shotgun going off. Neither of us were scared on any level. Tanya seemed used to the sound, though I had no way of verifying that. Not that I would've wanted to, anyways. And I just… didn't care. It seemed natural, felt like I'd always heard that and gotten used to ignoring it.  
Tanya's expression changed suddenly, and I was bemused by the flagrant disdain distorting her traits. It was such a benign thing for me to see on her. It didn't feel right. Hatred and loathing were more natural a thing to her than disgust.

"Hunter." She snarled, though I was relatively sure I wasn't meant to hear her. Whereas she'd jerked her head to her right (consequently my left), she then abruptly turned to look at me. "Run."

Before I could register moving, I had begun sprinting through the thick forest, barely a few paces behind Tanya. Her voice, for that single word, just for that 'run', had contained worry, genuine fear for my well-being.

That was the most confusing thing I'd encountered in my entire life.

We ran and ran and ran, and I couldn't make out any landmarks. I had no idea where we were going, but when I heard the sound of motors, I pushed myself to run faster. I wasn't even close to outrunning Tanya, but I was at least starting to match her speed--whatever it may have been. After what seemed like hours on end, we ran straight into a vast field of dried tall grass. I looked around, trying to remember where I'd seen a field like that in town before. After a moment of intense reflection, I realized that I would never know where I'd seen this around home. Because I was far from home. We were far from home. We'd run straight through the faunic reservation and had wound up in Valleyfield. And that town, if I could remember it right, was at least half an hour away from school.

Meaning either we were running fucking fast, or for a fucking long time. But I couldn't feel my muscles burning and seizing. I couldn't feel the familiar sting from my lungs' lack of oxygen. In fact, I felt better than I ever had after running for such a long time.

Something clicked, at that point, and I stared at Tanya wide-eyed. She clearly knew more than me on everything that was happening. And everything that had happened.

"What… am I?" I asked cautiously, for the first time feeling a twinge of fear in talking to her.

"That's what I'd like to know."

***

A week passed. Nothing else happened. When I crossed Tanya in the hallways, the animosity, the intense loathing was still there, but somehow, neither of us expressed it. Not in our stares, in our posture. We actualyl acknowledge each other. We gave brief nods, as though we were both part of a pact. A pact signed but never written. We'd agreed to something that had never been said.

It felt incredibly fulfilling.

Matt would ask me what happened at least five times every day, and doubled the effort over the weekend. I kept on telling him I'd only skipped because I went hiking with Tanya. She fell, broke her wrist, and I had to take her to the hospital.  
It wasn't a lie, either. In our rush to get back to school before the buses left, she'd fallen and broken her wrist in a vain attempt to soften the fall. I had taken her to the hospital afterwards, and our absence… Was, well, it wasn't motivated, so we both had detention the next day. But I just couldn't find myself to blame anyone, much less think that it wasn't worth it.

It was sunday evening when I went to take a walk with my dog, for the second time that day. I walked up to the river, some ten minutes away, and double back, veering right. The road there doubled as some kind of bridge over the more or less wide creek. Thick forest lined both sides of the road for a few hundred meters. A small bath cut through the middle on the left side, after the creek. I usually took it, finding it faster to get back to the road back home that way.  
I'd always been a little scared of that pass, but then again, in Chateauguay, there wasn't any action, ever. The latest 'crime' was that abandonned house that was used as a pot plantation and the girl who'd tried to strangle her mom. (But the latter had, technically, taken place outside of town borders.)

When my dog stopped, I starting asking myself some serious questions. Molson usually never stopped unless I told him to. The fact that he was growling--a low, menacing, feral growl--didn't help my insecurity. If there was a dog in the world who never growled or had malicious intents, it was Moe. It was when he started barking that I made a run for it.

Because something barked back.

The bass tone of it shook the ground, and I knew I would either be petrified or pumped with enough adrenaline to outrun whatever it was that was barking. I was a crappy runner, possibly the worst you'd ever seen, but my sprints were amazing. I'd ran the 100 meter in 13 seconds flat in the school olympics. It took a while for Molson to follow me: I'd let go of the leash and figured he'd follow me in the end anyways. I stopped when I saw the road. Because something clicked in my head.

Molson at my side, I hushed him and tried to focus on the surrounding sounds. I was lucky, barely any cars were on the road. I heard a hollow crack, a deep sound, suggesting that the twig was more of a branch than a twig. I cringed, looking straight ahead, towards the obscured path.

"I know you're there. You suck at hiding." I muttered, my teeth clenched. My brain was still forcing adrenaline in my system, despite the fact that I was more or less aware that I wasn't in much danger. "I'll hunt you down. I'll find a way to hunt you down. I'll wring your neck personally if I have to." I growled, finding that my loathing for Tanya had been switched; I now loathed this being I didn't nearly believe in.

There was a muted whined. I figured, at first, that it'd come from Molson. I wasn't too sure once I got home.

I stalked straight into my room, snatched the phone book on my way. I was going to find an association somewhere. There had to be one in Montreal, in the least. A place that sported supernatural beliefs. There had to be a bunch of crazies out there who believed that mythological creatures existed, right? Maybe Jason's mom would know something. Brandi was bound to know a group of idiots who thought vampires and werewolves existed. But I'd only ask her as a last resort, though. Last time I tried coaxing info on the Wendigo from her she'd nearly skinned me alive.

There.

M&G Hunters; ghosts, ghouls and nasty little buggers that go boom in the night: we hunt everything and anything. Free estimates, lowest prices in the province.

"With any luck I could even get hired." I huffed, pleased with my discovery. I dialed the number. My hands were shaking and I could barely breathe.

"G&H Hunter; you've got the creeps and we've got the peeps. How can I help you?" The guy sounded nice. The kind of voice that would belong to the too-young-to-be-your-uncle uncle.

"I have a… problem." I said, taking a deep breath. "I have something hanging around my place and I don't want anyone else hunting it except me. I've got beef with this thing." I new the poison in my voice was proof enough of how serious I was.

"Uh… Well… Hey, how 'bout this: drop by tomorrow after school--well around five, I guess--and we'll see what we can do about it, okay?" He proposed, and I released a sigh. I hadn't even known I was breathing enough to sigh.

"…yeah, yeah that sounds good. Thanks." I paused, stuttering a little. "Uh, m-my name is Skye, by the way."

"Well, Skye, I guess we'll see you tomorrow evening then, alright?"

"Yeah. Tomorrow."


	3. Suspicious

**Disclaimer**: Twilight, its plots and characters, belong to Stephenie Meyer. I just _wish_ I owned Jacob. Like a lot of us fanpeople.

**Summary**: They were lurking in the dark, all these years, wanting you to believe they were legends. They waited. The waiting's over; times to get on stage and see the world you've missed out on. JacobxOC. Rated T for intense swearing & mild religious content.

**My first OC-centric Twilight fanfiction. I tend to have a very scribbly and incomprehensible style, so read at your own risks. Also, my stories are always very... explicit. When it comes to language, anyways. So I should warn anyone and everyone who's going to read this; I make my character swear a lot. I'll try my best to keep Jacob in character, but I can't guarantee anything decent. But Skye's going to swear. Lots.**

* * *

Chapter Two : Suspicious

_January 3rd 1999_

_« Quite frankly, Ophelia, I have no idea. Most of the stories that are passed down from generation to generation are submitted to changes, as time goes by. You know that, right? It's a question of honor, of thrill and enthrallment. If you don't captivate the listeners, it's not worth it. Your story, your tales, they have to be... what word do you always use? Epic, is it? Yes, it has to be epic. [...] No, dear no! The Wendigo stories? Most of the information in them are purely made-up things, to scare children just like you. Things that will keep you eating your vegetables and doing your homework every day! No, the Wendigo was actually a docile creature, from what my father told me when I was a your age. [...] Oh, don't worry about the Wendigo this time around, Ophie. Since the evil siren-men went away, they haven't been seen at all. It's funny, isn't it? How the Wendigo just seemed to disappear from the surface of the planet just when the siren-men vanished... »_

_-Conversation held between Dr. Krauffman(58 yrs old) and his young pupil, Ophelia(7 yrs old)-_

* * *

Monday morning came, and I deeply resented the day. All through first period, I was stressed to a point where I didn't even listen to my English teacher. And I always listened to my English teacher. Hell, her class was the only one I paid any attention whatsoever in. Second period was worse: I fell asleep. Third period was decent, because my hunger took my mind off my stress. Lunch was nice. My friends made me laugh. Throughout the entire day, though, I made my best effort to keep quiet about the appointment after school. The last thing I wanted was to be asked a thousand questions. Questions I knew I wouldn't have any answers to.

Obviously, I had to have Tanya in my last class, which just happened to be Economy, which Matt was also in. And for some reason, she always eyed me whenever I was stressed. It was always a little creepy, actually, the way she always seemed to just _know_. But she never bothered when I was depressed or overly happy--just when I was angsting like a preteen. She came over to the desk in front of mine. I was against the wall to my left, in the back of the class, and Matt was to my right. It wasn't like he was about to move away for Tanya, of all people.

I wasn't too sure if she was glaring at me or just staring. It's always been too easy to confuse the two when it came to Tanya.

"Spill it." Oh, yes, she had such a wonderful way to go about heartfelt discussions. The stare/glare made it so much easier.

"Spill what?" I asked airily, trying to pay attention to the rest of the class. The teacher was once more recorrecting last week's exams and had left us in teams to work in our books. I saw Matt turning his head to look at me. Goody, now I had two people on my back.

"You're stressed. You're doing that thing with your hair again and it's pissing me off."

I stared at her blankly for a few seconds. I was doing what now? I had to think for a bit before I could decipher what Tanya was telling me: she hated it when I constantly tugged at my hair. Either combing through it or twisting it, she hated it. I cracked open my book, feigning work. At least the teacher wouldn't accuse us of being 'silly gossiping teenagers' again. Recently, I'd felt the urge to slug him in the face every time he made that comment.

"I called an agency last night," I said, and I just barely heard Matt's chair sliding nearer over the cacophony in the class.

"What agency?" he asked, clearly stealing the words right out of Tanya's mouth. The latter predictably threw him a smoldering glare.

"It's a place in Montreal. They study…" I swept the class with a quick roaming glance, then lowered my voice so no one would hear. "...they study myths and legends. Ghosts and shit," I muttered, flicking through the pages and pretending to write something down as the teacher looked our way.

"Say what now?" Matt whispered harshly, narrowing his eyes and staring at me very intently. "Myths? Ghosts?" I thought I saw a flicker of color in his eyes. I dismissed it, guessing it must have been something in my eye. I was prone to hallucinating lights and colors all over the place.

"M&G, right?" Tanya asked. The genuine curiosity in her voice disturbed me. For a split second, there was no animosity at all.

I nodded. "How did you know?"

"I called them too."

***

Last period flew by too fast. Tanya and I didn't mention M&G for the rest of it despite Matt's constant whining and probing. Three o'clock came, then four. I waited at home, trying to ready myself, trying to find something decent to wear. I wasn't too sure yet what look I wanted to go for, either the 'I'm serious' or the 'I'm in serious shit' (I like this sentence and I'm still trying to get it how I want it to read…). I settled for something that sent an 'I'm so normal that I scream abnormality' vibe. I caught the 4:15 bus, figuring that I had more than enough time, in forty-five minutes, to make it to M&G.

I was so, _so_ wrong.

I reached the doors at half past five. The shop front--well, if you can call it a shop front--was pretty simplistic. The window was covered, from the inside, with a thick black curtain. A white decal had been stuck to the window. It was a circular design, abstract to those who didn't know what they were looking at. I could see the wolves: two at the top, howling at opposite sides of each other. They made up the ears of a larger wolf, only a head. I started at it for a very long time, convinced I'd seen it somewhere before, but unable to pinpoint exactly where.

The sounds of bells mesmerized me for a second. The pristine, clear sound of a bell threw me into a split-second trance. A hand waved in front of me. I shook myself out of my reverie and stared at the hand's owner. I imagined I must've been disfiguring him: he started laughing a deep, hearty laughter.

"You must be Skye. We've been waiting for you." I recognized the voice I'd heard on the phone.

The man was tall, beaming. A little old, probably in his late forties, early fifties. He looked like someone I knew before. A man that used to work with my father at the local faunic reservation. Donald, or something like that. Long white beard and matching hair. Where hair was still present on his head, the strands were a pretty decent length. Sort of Santa-ish without the morbid obesity.

"Uh, I'm really sorry I'm late. The bus got stuck in traffic and I…" I stumbled over my words. My heart was thrumming in my chest like hummingbird wings. It should've been obvious by then to any passer-by that I wasn't quite at ease in public places.

"It's fine. I said around five, didn't I? Five thirty, that's still around five as far as I'm concerned."

I smiled and followed him inside the shop. I was surprised by how light everything was. From the outside, you'd be sure that the inside was dark and stuffy. Instead, the air was crisp and mirrors on the ceiling caught the light from above the curtains. It was really impressive.

What struck me most was the _smell_.

At first it was horrible. It was like some thick, disgustingly sweet perfume permeated the air around me and was trying to suffocate me. Seconds later though, an odd incense-like smell wafted through, and I found my heart was slowly going back to beating at a regular pace. I looked around for the first time. The walls were scarcely covered in shelves, commemorative plaques and books were strewn, some open, some closed, on the counter to my left and the floor around it. One of the pages of an open book caught my eye. The book was open about halfway through, revealing the start of a new chapter entitled "WENDIGO & AL". I was a little taken back but quickly discarded the discovery. It was just a coincidence.

The man, who turned out to be exactly who I thought he was--Donald Steinbeck--led me to the back door. I thought I was being taken outside, but the door opened on a set of descending stairs. The basement was cooler than the first floor, and the gross, sweet smell once again assaulted my nose. Like before, the scent quickly went away, replaced by a woodsy smell that soothed, calmed me even more.

I still felt anxious. Something was wrong: my legs felt like they would have to run for it in a second, but he rest of me felt completely at ease…

"So, I understand you've got a problem?" Donald asked from my right. He pulled out a wooden chair, inviting me to sit at a round table. A few people were already there, whispering. They stopped as soon as they saw me enter the room.

"Y-yeah. Problem…" I echoed in a hushed tone, sitting down at the table. The woman in front of me had long, curly black hair. She seemed as old as Donald, give or take five years. The corners of her eyes were creased from ancient laughter; even as she stared nonchalantly, her mouth seemed to naturally pull upward into a makeshift grin. The man to her left was much younger, probably in his mid-twenties. He looked like a warped version of my brother. He was skinnier and clearly worked out a lot more, and his blue eyes didn't at all match with his pitch-black hair. Something told me he and the woman were blood relatives; I went out on a limb and guessed she was his mother.

"This is Caitlin and Ross. Caitlin's a specialist in paranormal activities, spirits and things like that. She can come in contact with pretty much anything dead or alive. Ross is a hunter. Hunts pretty much everything. He's our number one guy when it comes to exorcisms." Donald's tone reminded me of a grandfather introducing his children to an old time friend. I felt a little out of place, not quite uneasy.

"Donald's the boss of this place," Ross said. His voice rang in my ears, felt familiar like so many other things did recently. "He's usually the one to break a bone every time we're out on a call," Ross snickered, and I couldn't help but crack a smile. I heard something from Caitlin, but I didn't pay much attention to her. I was unable to imagine her smile, let alone laugh. And so I assumed she was trying to scoff to scold her son—presumed son, at least.

"Yeah, well, someone's gotta take the blows. Ain't that right, Skye?"

I narrowed my eyes but kept smiling. Someone had to take the blows… I was puzzled as to why I felt so attacked by his remark.

"Well, anyways. I think you'd better go on talkin' about this problem of yours. I'm curious," Donald continued, taking the last chair and sitting to my left. I nodded, took a deep breath.

"I think I have a stalker." Caitlin raised a delicate eyebrow. "Not…not a normal one, I, uh…" I stuttered, a little unnerved about all the eyes on me. "I think I… well it's stupid."

"Most people think what we do is stupid," Caitlin spoke for the first time. Something in her voice set me off. It sounded like she was offended or annoyed with me.

"I think I'm being stalked by the Wendigo," I blurted, obstinately looking down at my lap where I was wringing my hands. "I mean, I don't really know. But…"

"There's a story behind this isn't there?" Donald asked. I knew he was serious. I was being taken seriously. Thank God.

Heaving a sigh of what I wanted to believe was relief, I started recounting the events of that night almost a month ago. There were a lot of things I couldn't remember, because of the fright and because I tried my best to forget everything. Caitlin was obviously not happy about this, but I could see the glances Ross was throwing at her. Donald never took his eyes off me. If anything, I'd say he was completely engrossed in what I was saying.

"I just figured I'd need help," I groaned, supporting my head in my hands. "I mean, I don't want to kill… whatever it is. I just want it to go away. And I want to do it myself. Because it looks like I'm the only person it'd listen to. The night I first saw it, when I said I'd hunt it down, I'm sure it howled again because of that."

"It's too dangerous!" Caitlin snapped, glaring at me with more intensity than even Tanya could muster. I shuddered. I didn't like this woman one bit.

"Caitlin's right, though, Skye." Donald answered, apparently lost in though. "Hunting ghosts is dangerous enough. They can attack us without us knowing what they are. It's a lot different with werewolves. They've got natural fighting instincts that we can't even dream of beating," he said, scratching his beard.

"We could always hire her part-time," Ross suggested. "We could teach her the basics. Take her on a call or two, just to observe. If she can handle that, maybe we can take a chance and go a little further."

I liked Ross. Ross was good to me, unlike like his bitchy mother. That is, if my guess was right and she actually _was_ his mother. I thought about asking, but kept quite. Not the right time just yet.

"That's insane! She's more likely to get killed getting here than get out of a call with her sanity!" Caitlin exploded, slamming her hands on the table.

Again, the rage and loathing inside me boiled, with no apparent reason. Sure, I knew the anger had its place, the loathing was just a bit... much.

"I'm already insane if I believe werewolves exist," I growled. "I don't think I can suffer any more than I am at the moment. I want that fucking thing out of my life. And if you're not willing to help me, I'll just go meet some creep in a dark alley or something and get it done the black market way." I stomped away from the table, vaguely aware of the chair falling in my wake.

I was a little disgusted with myself. I'd never acted like that. Not even around Tanya. Much LESS around Tanya. That woman was just pushing the edges…edges that should be much further. I frowned. I stopped and let my hand linger on the door's cool glass. I looked down at the book I'd seen before on the Wendigo. No one was around. I picked it up and left.

***

The rest of the offered me no consolation. The minute I got home, my mother bombarded me with so many questions, I didn't even have the time to answer _one_ before ten others had been asked. Eventually I lost my patience; as much as I loved my mother, I couldn't stand her when she was in a frenzy like that. After clearing the hallway, I headed straight to my room and slammed the door. As per usual, I shoved the window open, jumped in the lilac tree and clambered on the roof.

It had been around seven when I got home. The traffic on the Mercier bridge was hell, and even though the town buses had those privileged lanes, the ride home somehow wasn't any faster. The sun was just barely beginning to set, at the sky to the east was starting to darken. There weren't any stars yet, but the moon was as bright and present as it always was. Just as fascinating and esoteric as I'd always found it.

The dog next door started howling, but that wasn't too much of a surprise. Ambulance sirens had gone on barely a second before, and whenever that happened, you were sure to have at least _one_ dog howling at it. What surprised me, actually, was the fact that a much deeper howl came to me, from much further away. I groaned, not enjoying the sounds at all. But at least, I figured I should be at least a little happy. Whatever had been stalking me had gotten the message and was staying a safe distance away. How long things were going to stay that way though...

Well, I didn't want to take a guess too soon.

I heard my mother pounding on my bedroom door, screaming some insane remark or another. I didn't pay much attention to what she screamed, lately. I slowly, quietly tottered to the edge of the roof, back the way I came, and hurried down the lilac tree. It was only a matter of time before mother dear decided that she had to tear the door off its hinges.

There were always several bikes by the lilac tree, pressed against its side. In the summer, at night especially, it was always a pain try to stay on the little stepping stone path to the backyard gate, considering the bikes usually took up half the space. I found myself cursing a little too loudly, or running into the huge metal frames, causing too much noise to stay outside. Because, yes, I enjoyed the occasional venture in the backyard at night, while it rained, and while everyone was asleep.

I snatched a bike and strode quickly to the gate, shoved it open and ran the length of the driveway before hoping on the bike and zooming away, veering to the left. I heard my mother yell something, but by the time she would realize I had 'run away', I'd already be long gone. I knew she wouldn't bother running after me, not unless I wasn't home the next morning.

I relished the freedom of the old Quebec roads, the half-demolished asphalt and the cracked sidewalks. I went slowly, though, because I hadn't rode a bike in such a long time and my legs got tired easily. I used to ride every day, sometimes to go somewhere, mostly just to get out of the house. But something happened, and sadly, my emotional state wrecked my physical state. I was just getting home one day after a particularly scarring heartbreak, and all of a sudden, poof! My legs couldn't move anymore. I was scared to death: I even called my mom at work nearly crying because I knew _something_ had to be wrong with me.

That aside, half an hour later, I got to the other side of the small town and felt much better. Worn out, tired, out of breath, a little anxious even, but better nonetheless. It was funny, actually: I felt like the answers I hadn't gotten earlier that evening were going to come to me there. Which was absurd. Then again, the concept of live werewolves was absurd, too.

There was a duplex, where I used to live. The backyard itself was huge, but the forest was even better. There was only a flimsy chicken coop-like fence separating the actual yard from the forest. My brother and I would always wander off on sunny days, with my father, and we'd always bring back snakes or injured birds, sometimes even lizards. I knew that forest was a good place to cool down after my day. I wasn't sure why I _absolutely_ had to come across town to calm down, but it felt nice to get some decent exercise.

I steered left, again, into a boulevard perpendicular to the main road. Duplexes lined the street, forest behind the ones on the left and more houses behind the one on the right. To the left, once again, was a little cul-de-sac. I went there, knowing that there was a small gravel lot destined for the cars of the rare hikers that came by. I ditched my bike there, jumping off, not bothering to kick up the stand. It fell in a clatter of jingling metal, the wheels still spinning furiously. I giggled and ran in the forest, as fast as I could, despite the fact that I was relatively sure that my legs were going to turn to Jello three seconds in.

I walked around for a long time, mostly heading north, towards the steep descent in the land I knew would be there. I was desperate to find a tangible reminder of the winter I'd spent there with my family, running down the snowy hill with my brother and late dog.

Just when I reached the top of the hill, I realized that, not only had I left my phone behind, but I had forgotten to bring a watch. As I spun around myself, I forgot all about the silly hill I'd spent twenty minutes finding and started to worry. I couldn't see the houses at all any more. How far could I _possibly_ have gone in just twenty minutes? As I spun, again and again, I froze and literally screamed at myself. I was such and idiot, turning around like that all the time! If I didn't know where I'd gone from before, I was even _more_ lost than I ever could have hoped to be.

Taking a deep breath, I looked down at the hill. I was staring ahead, watching the steep descent, and remembered that, to my right, should be the way to my old home. I figured that as soon as I got to the backyard there, assuming there weren't any dogs, locks, barbed wires or electrical currents running through the fence, I would be able to make it through the duplex's backyard and make it back to my bike in no time.

I stared up, trying to see the sky. It was considerably darker, and most of the stars were already shining brightly. I groaned loudly. I knew my mother was already worrying herself to hell and back again, because I knew it had to be well past eight thirty. I had spent way too much time away from home, and that time wasn't about to get any shorter. Slowly, I turned to my right and started walking towards what I could only hope to be my way home.

* * *

_Thanks for reading this chapter!__  
__  
__Special thanks to _**_Alenya11 _**_for the huge publicity stunt. In return, I feel I should mention that her fanfiction, __Travel to Fate__, is VERY good, and much worth the wait between the chapters. (Which actually isn't that long, if you compare it to, say, __me__?)_

_Also, many thanks to _**_Mustang901, Gryffindor Gurl2 _**_and_**_ CWash09 _**_for adding this story to their favorites. Knowing people like Retrospect--in any way, shape or form!--is always very appreciated. (Though a review would be nice next time. ;) But thank you.)_

_Later taters! ;D_


End file.
